Smell My Fingers
by Dan Sickles
Summary: Miranda gives Andy a quick lesson in time management, which quickly spirals into a series of steamy encounters!
1. Smell My Fingers

SMELL MY FINGERS

_Miranda __gives __Andy __a __quick __lesson __in __time __management. __I __do __not __own __these __adorable __characters. __Please __comment __nicely!_

"Emily," cried the soft but piercing voice. "Emily!"

"She means you," drawled the cold, stunning English beauty in the outer office, batting her ridiculously long lashes at the frightened new girl.

"_Gulp!__"_ Andrea Sachs nearly tripped over her new four-inch heels in her frantic rush to serve Miranda Priestley. It wasn't that she was afraid of making a mistake. Lately she was even more afraid of doing something right.

"Ah, there you are, Emily. How many times must I scream your name?" Miranda's soft-voiced sarcasm couldn't quite disguise the flicker of approval in her cool gray eyes. Her new assistant's high heels and short skirt really drew attention to that slim figure and those long, long legs. Just watching her stumble into the plush private office with such undisguised fear in those enormous brown eyes made the older woman lick her well-glossed lips in anticipation.

"I called James and told him you want Gisele and not Naomi, and I got you the table you like at Michele's, and I told Irv lunch at one-thirty on Friday . . ." Andy was already dreading the moment when Miranda would discover the very slight alteration she'd made to the schedule.

"I said one." Miranda's correction came out as a purr, almost like a caress. "Is it too much to expect even a barely competent assistant to be able to tell time, Emily?"

Andy took a deep breath. "I changed the time on purpose," she gasped, her eyes dropping from Miranda's arctic gaze to the frosted pink sheen of her lips. Her heart thudded in her ears like cannon fire as she forced herself to continue, "I know you wanted to make it earlier, but last Friday you were late because I . . . because you . . . I'm very sorry, Miranda." Humiliated and hot, Andy lowered her gaze to the carpet.

"We lost track of time," the older woman purred, her silken soft whisper contrasting with her piercing glacier-cool gaze. "Close the door and come here, _Andrea_. This won't take long."

Shamefaced, Andy obeyed, closing the door and slipping around the managing editor's desk. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl. But there was nothing innocent about the way her knees turned to jelly the moment Miranda's long, cool, perfectly-manicured fingers slid between her thighs.


	2. Surge of Triumph

_Chapter Two: Surge of Triumph_

"Smell my fingers," Miranda commanded, in her soft and whispery voice, when their private meeting was over.

"Yes, Miranda." Andy's sheepish smile couldn't cover up the blush of shame on her cheeks. Why did she always come apart every time her boss managed to slide a finger inside her? She was weak, and she made inappropriate noises.

Whimpers.

Muffled sobs.

Pleas for more.

Even a barely stifled shriek when it was over.

Andy felt doubly foolish, knowing that in five minutes Miranda would be her cool, composed self, whereas she would have to flutter about in a frantic rush for the rest of the afternoon. She couldn't afford to be dazed and distracted!

If only she could turn the tables . . .

"Andrea." The whisper was a command, utterly potent, powerfully hypnotic. When she bent her dark head obediently, Andy knew that she would be doing more than sniffing the tips of Miranda's fingers. She would be inhaling the scent of her own arousal, reliving her own submission.

_No! Not this time! She wouldn't! No no no no no!_

When Miranda offered her hand, Andrea turned it over. She kissed the blue veins just under Miranda's wrist, and felt her lover's pulse leap.

And felt a completely ridiculous surge of triumph.


	3. Rubbing Her Wrist

_Chapter Three: Rubbing Her Wrist_

Miranda had been rubbing her wrist for days. There was no pain, only a sharp tingle, here one minute and gone the next.

At first she thought it was carpal tunnel syndrome.

"Andrea." The game of calling her young assistant to her, of making her submit, was beginning to trouble her a little. It was perfectly acceptable for her subordinate to succumb to pleasure, to whimper with need when she knelt before Miranda on the carpet. That was part of her submission. But lately Miranda had feelings of need that disturbed her.

She rubbed her wrist.

"Here I am, Miranda." The warm, dark-eyed girl was growing more beautiful every day, and it didn't help matters that she was acquiring the most delicious wardrobe imaginable. All part of her job, of course, but as she grew more proficient it became harder and harder for Miranda to keep her hopping.

"Did you call James and . . ."

"Rescheduled for Thursday, got it."

"Those skirts that I liked . . ."

"On their way up."

They sparred like that until Miranda's cool gray eyes fell to the younger woman's cleavage.

"The book," she croaked. "Tonight I want you to come upstairs when you bring me the book."

"Should I bring my pajamas?" Andy's bright smile faded a little as she saw the look on Miranda's face.

"After we're finished, I might allow you to wear something. I might even allow you to sleep in my bed."

The girl had authentic poise, even when she was being forced to wallow in her own submission. "I think I'll enjoy whatever you allow," she said softly.

"I think so too." Miranda waved her dismissal, deliberately using the hand Andy had kissed last week. "That's all."

Andy didn't fight the command. She just nodded and left the office, leaving Miranda alone and in total control. After a moment the older woman sank back in her chair, picturing the night to come. Without realizing it, she was also rubbing her wrist.

Rubbing her wrist.

Craving the girl's kiss.


	4. Miranda's Secret

_Chapter Four: Miranda's Secret_

When Andy climbs the stairs, she pictures Miranda waiting for her in a sharp-tailored suit, with broad, padded shoulders. That's how she always sees her at work. Cool. In control.

But then again, maybe Miranda will be wearing a little black dress. Something delicate, enticing, feminine. Andy sees her lips pressing into perfumed softness, kissing her bare arms, her bare shoulders, her bare throat . . .

"Come in, Andrea." The small, white-haired woman lying in the huge bed hasn't made even the slightest gesture towards seduction. She's under the covers, wearing reading glasses, but Andy can see her sensible pale blue pajamas.

All that's missing is the glass of warm milk.

"I brought the book upstairs, Miranda . . . the way you asked me to." Andy could kick herself for the way she sounds right now. Hurt. Confused. And very disappointed.

"Put the book over there." Miranda gestures, carelessly, with the object in her hand. Andy is surprised to see it's a Kindle. She didn't think Miranda ever had time to read.

But then her boss climbs out of bed. Throws back the covers. "Climb in," she says. "I'm going to get ready for bed."

"Um . . . I didn't bring anything to wear?" Andy makes it a question, afraid to challenge Miranda about her intentions. Does the older woman want her to strip here and now? Andy finds she's already picturing herself out of her clothes. Stripped of power. Naked under Miranda's knowing gaze.

Miranda gives her a heavy-lidded gaze of pure boredom. Even without eye-shadow it's sexy. "Please," she says softly. "Kick off your shoes and lie down. You look exhausted!"

"Well, that's flattering." But Andy is smiling as she steps out of her towering heels and climbs into the older woman's bed. At least her boss wants her to be well-rested. For a change. Smiling to herself, Andy picks up the Kindle on the pillow.

_**Glory and the Clever Cat, by Carol Storm. **_

Her dark-brown eyes go wide with surprise. Miranda reads e-books? Everyone knows these things are cheap. Trashy. Dripping with sex.

Lying in bed, the girl starts to read, ready to giggle or blush whenever the bad writing and cheap acrobatics make the whole thing too disgusting. Or too ridiculous.

She's really not prepared for the Gothic opening, the mystery of the pale, frightened stranger banging on the castle door. Andy can smell the meat sizzling inside. The waif at the door is cold, hungry, frightened . . . clearly royalty on the run.

Andy sinks a bit deeper into Miranda's bed. Slowly there's an awareness creeping into her of warmth. Miranda's body has warmed the bed, and she's lying in that pool of heat. And as she sinks deeper into the story, absorbing the adventures of the shy waif and her attraction to the bold queen, Andy feels heat pooling within her body as well. Before she realizes it, she's begun exploring that heat with knowing fingers. Her eyes close, and her head sinks back on Miranda's pillow . . .

"Enjoying yourself?" asks an amused female voice.

_**A/N: Glory and the Clever Cat is a real book, published by Noble Romance. If you've enjoyed my DWP fics I'm sure you'll like it. It's okay for me to plug it, because I wrote it!**_


	5. Slippery When Wet

_Chapter Five: Slippery When Wet _

"I was just – just reading this story I found on your Kindle," Andy gasped. Miranda had walked in just as lusty Queen Gloriana was about to order Cat the slave-girl into her bed.

"Interesting reading, I hope," Miranda purred. The older woman sat down on the side of the bed, a knowing gleam in her cool gray eyes. Without a word of warning she slid her hand down under the warm and cozy Lola Jenkins quilt.

"Miranda!" Andy's squeal of embarrassment was stifled by the delicious friction of cool fingers against her heated thighs. If only Miranda would slip a tiny way inside her . . .

"What do you think of Queen Gloriana?" Miranda asked casually, as though the two of them were chatting at a library book club instead of in the hushed intimacy of her bedroom.

"Well, she's certainly a leader," Andy acknowledged, a little amused at Miranda's delaying tactics. Yet a part of her was already squirming for release. "Glory seems to be the loud, blustery type though – she's always shouting and laughing and whooping it up with her male entourage."

"And you see through that," Miranda said quietly. Her fingers slipped inside the girl, and began a rhythmic stroking motion. "Tell me what you see in a real leader, Andrea."

Andy felt the promise and the threat, both of them making her even more turned on. She had lost the Kindle, and was now lying powerless under Miranda's stroking fingers. "A real leader is soft-spoken, subtle. She gets what she wants without raising her voice!"

Miranda nearly smiled. "Your voice is getting shrill, Andrea. Describe the perfect follower, please."

"Oh!" Andy had almost shrieked aloud a moment ago. Miranda was slipping into her, and out of her, teasing her so that she couldn't think of anything but the mesmerizing rise and fall of the textured sensations within her. "Enthusiastic . . . energetic . . . eager to please . . ."

"Soft-spoken," Miranda supplied, as the girl tumbled helplessly into her release. "Sensitive, supportive, submissive, those are all good qualities in a subordinate. Can you think of any others, Andrea?"

"Oh, God!" Andy lost it completely. While Miranda held her she swooned into the most amazing world of total sensation, then into what almost felt like an old-fashioned fainting spell.

"All right, dear?"

"Yes, thanks." Andy opened her eyes, looking up at the older woman who absolutely ruled her body and soul. "I think I know one other good quality in a subordinate, Miranda."

"Tell me, please."

Andy smiled at her demanding boss. "Slippery when wet."


	6. Take, Take, Take!

_Chapter Six: Take, take, take!_

Sleepy. Depleted. Drained of energy.

Andy Sachs blinked her eyes, hoping they'd stay open by themselves this time. No matter how hard she tried to remain alert, sleep kept overwhelming her, overpowering her as she sat propped up behind her desk. The job was hectic, all right. The pace was frantic. But it was the late nights with Miranda that were really beginning to get to her!

_Miranda Priestley's office. Yes, I'll tell her you called. _

_Miranda Priestley's office. Yes, I'll tell her you called. _

_Miranda Priestley's office. Yes, I'll tell her you called. _

Each time the phone rang, her dark brown eyes flew open. The words spilled out even though her mind was a blank. Lately Andy was starting to feel as if she was just a machine.

_Miranda Priestley's office. _

_Miranda Priestley's office._

_Miranda Priestley's office._

The automatic response was totally the same in bed. Andy had lost count of how many times Miranda made her come last night. She always pressed the right button. Or buttons. Miranda always pressed the right buttons. In every location.

But what did Andy Sachs do for her?

_Miranda Priestley's office. Miranda Priestley's office. Miranda Priestley's office . . ._

Andrea's beautiful, droopy-lidded brown eyes clanged shut. A parade of provocative pictures flitted through her head, lewd, indecent images of her nightly antics in Miranda's bed.

"Miranda Priestley's bed . . . sorry." Andy flashed a sleepy-eyed grin at the unseen caller, her cheeks scarlet with embarrassment. "Yes, Patrick, I meant Miranda Priestley's office. Yes, I'll tell her you called."

"Andrea! Will you watch what you're doing?" Crisp and alert, Emily Charlton swooped across the office on stiletto heels, snatching the phone from Andy's hand. "Patrick, it will be four and not three, and Miranda wants rubies and emeralds. Right, very good." Having saved the day, the auburn-haired beauty stood looking down at the sheepish, sleepy second assistant with unconcealed disdain.

"Have you any idea how much damage you could have done to the magazine just now?" Hands on hips, violet eyes blazing, Emily was the very picture of icy, aristocratic scorn.

"Sorry." Andy's smile was sincere, but Emily was not mollified. The slim, exquisitely attired English beauty slinked back to her desk in a high-fashion huff.

"It's not fair!" The English girl sniffed, tapping away at her computer without missing a stroke. "Just because Miranda keeps you busy all night, I do twice the work during the day. It's hurting the magazine, and you really ought to speak to her about it. After all she's given you, I should think you'd be grateful. But my God! Some people just take, take, take!"

"Emily, I . . ." Andy opened her mouth to apologize. But she was interrupted.

"Emily, please contain your childish outbursts. Nigel needs you upstairs. It is conceivable you might learn something. Andrea, in my office. I have something for you." Miranda removed her silver Oleg Cassini sunglasses and gave Andrea the once-over, eyeing her from head to toe. The gleam in her cool gray eyes made the girl feel hot all over.

"Right away, Miranda." Andy trotted off to obey her boss. She shot an apologetic look over her slim white shoulder, half-expecting to see Emily sticking out her tongue at her.

Instead the sexy English girl just shook her head.

_Take, take, take!_


	7. Good On You

_Chapter Seven: Good On You_

"Miranda, I . . . I don't know what to say." Andy Sachs nearly collapsed under the weight of the gold-leaf necklace her wealthy employer had just hung around her slender neck.

"I thought something leafy might be . . . appropriate," the older woman whispered. "You do love trees and flowers, Andrea. Even your computer has a flowery screen saver."

"Yes, but a gift like this . . . so expensive . . . so incredibly beautiful . . . Miranda, I just can't accept this." Andy felt as if she were Houdini wriggling out of a hundred chains as she handed back the glimmering gold necklace.

"I can give you anything you desire, Andrea. Anything at all." Miranda's cool gray eyes met hers, commanding Andy to submit to sheer pleasure. That silver gaze was mesmerizing.

"Anything at all," Andy repeated, with a blank look on her face. Scenes from the night before raced through her head. She blinked her lovely brown eyes, and frowned. "That's just the problem, Miranda. You can give me anything. You can touch me anywhere, and I melt. I can't hold anything back! But you can. Whenever I touch you, you freeze. And I can't give you any of what you give me."

Miranda pursed her full lips. "I've got responsibilities, Andrea. I have a lot resting on my shoulders. And I have to think about how others see me."

Andy's outrage made her cheeks flush crimson. "Those things are important to me too, Miranda. I care about how people see me. And I'm tired of being seen as the boss' weak-willed office plaything . . . as Miranda Priestley's pet!"

"Are you tired of the way I make you feel, Andrea?" the older woman asked, with deadly calm.

"I'm tired of feeling shut out," Andy blurted. "It's like you don't trust me. You don't share with me. You just push my buttons! And the rewards I get for letting myself be used and controlled are all the things I don't want – things I never wanted!" Andy was crying by the time she finished. She didn't notice how loud her voice had gotten, or how clearly they could hear her in the outer office. Then again, she didn't notice the tears running down her cheeks either.

"Is that all you have to say, dear?" Miranda asked mildly.

Andy nodded. She was too choked up to speak.

"I admire your courage, Andrea. Thank you for speaking to me so honestly." Miranda's hand actually shook a little as she pushed a button, and spoke softly into her desk phone. Andy was in such a state she couldn't follow the words. But when Miranda looked up her gaze was as icy as ever. "Emily will help you collect your things, and Roy will take you home. I have greatly enjoyed working with you, Andrea. That's all."

Andy could never remember much that happened afterwards. The outer office was a blur. She packed her things, said her goodbyes, and then she was out the door. Everyone was very kind. Everyone felt very sorry for her.

Except for Emily, of course.

The heartless Brit in the shockingly sexy Vivienne Westwood dress looked her right in the eye and said, "good on you."


	8. A Safe Choice

_Chapter Eight: A Safe Choice_

Andy Sachs lifted droopy lids, slowly focusing on her tiny TV. A shirtless hunk in a steamy soap. What happened to The View? It freaked her out to realize that she'd actually slept, killing the whole morning. That had to be a good sign, right?

The bleary-eyed young woman stretched on the battered sofa, feeling depleted despite her sleep. Why was she so tired? She'd been lying on the sofa eating ice cream and crying for days. Everywhere she turned, Andy saw wreckage and devastation – not just ice cream cartons and pizza boxes and week-old dirty laundry, but the shattered debris of her old life. High heels she wouldn't be tottering around in anymore. Fancy Prada bags she wouldn't be carrying to work. There was even a soiled pair of panties spilling out of one of her handbags. She must have been wearing those at the office the last time she and Miranda . . .

Andy sat up on the sofa and began knuckling her eyes, hard, her grubby palms running roughly over her unwashed face. She had to get a grip! The reason she wasn't sleeping at night was because of the nightmares. Not nightmares as in falling out of airplanes or being gobbled up by giant sharks. Nightmares where Miranda was making love to her with tenderness. Saying over and over how much she adored her. Andrea, _darling_. My _precious_ Andrea. In the dreams Andy always wept, begging Miranda to hold her close, to never let her go. And in the end she always woke up alone.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door.

"I hope you know that I'm putting my own job at risk dropping in on you like this," Emily Charlton briskly proclaimed. "Bloody hell, this place stinks like the Fleet Ditch at low tide!"

"What's the garment bag for, Emily?" Andy knew better than to bother with a polite greeting. Emily didn't do polite. The stunning, slender redhead slinked into the cluttered apartment as if she owned the place, shooting a disdainful look at all the mess.

"This is something you left behind. A dress you left at work." Her heavily made-up features were somehow disdainful, knowing, icy and sensual all at the same time. Emily Charlton carried herself like a queen visiting a leper colony.

"I cleaned out my things," Andy mumbled weakly. The dress was a deadly black number by Marc Jacobs, sensual and yet businesslike. There was no way she would have forgotten it. Suddenly a wild hope thrilled her. "Emily, did Miranda order you to bring me that dress?"

"Ha!" The British girl's mocking laugh was brittle and elegant, but just a touch too theatrical. "Miranda has taken no notice of your absence at all. I can't imagine why she would. Tonight she has a fundraiser for President Obama himself!"

"Fun fun," Andy sighed. She slumped on the sofa, watching as Emily impatiently kicked aside wads of Kleenex and empty pizza boxes to hang the sexy dress in her tiny closet.

"Don't expect me to come back to this pig sty again," Emily huffed, in her most scornful tone. At the door, her striking violet eyes softened. "At least, not till you find another job."

Andy shrugged. "I have an interview tomorrow morning. Someplace where they never heard of fashion. Or Miranda."

The haughty Brit raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Well then, clearly a safe choice. Is that what you're looking for?"


	9. Bad Idea

_Chapter Nine: Bad Idea_

Clacking down Park Avenue in an aimless sort of way, cold too, with the icy November wind lifting her short black Givenchy dress and making men stop and stare in the street, Andy Sachs had the feeling she had just blown it. All of it.

It wasn't just that the job interview had been a total disaster. That she could live with. It was the way she had actually stood up for Miranda when the nice lady at the left-wing magazine made some remark about Runway "tricking" young women into wanting things they couldn't afford.

"So if it's a waste of time to read Runway, unless you actually have the money to buy the clothes, then is it a waste of time to read Jane Austen unless you're actually an English aristocrat? That's different? Oh, because that's art. Right. And you can only learn about art at expensive schools like Barnard and Wellesley. Gee, and to think I wasted those four wonderful years at Northwestern! Well, Mrs. Klumperman, you can take Jane Austen, and your smug, self-promoting, class-bound definition of art and just . . ."

Andy was pretty sure she didn't get the job.

"Hey lady! Fer crissakes, get out of the street!"

The sudden blast of a honking horn nearly scared her right out of her Jimmy Choos. Andy had been walking along mumbling to herself just like a bag lady! When she looked over, she saw that she had almost walked right in front of a great big stretch limousine. For a moment she just stood there, like a deer caught in the headlights, staring at the driver's face in a sort of trance.

And then something clicked for both of them.

"Andrea, is that you? Jesus, I almost killed you!" The driver pulled over and stuck his head out the window. He looked genuinely concerned. In fact he looked worried sick.

"Roy?" Without thinking, Andrea tottered three or four steps closer to the huge luxury car, half longing to see Miranda again. Then she drew up short, skittish and ready to bolt.

"Don't worry, kid, she's not here." Roy's hard face took on a shrewd expression as he read the girl's thoughts with ease. "We were just taking Patricia out for some exercise, and she got away. I don't know what I'm going to do!"

"Patricia got away?" Andy's dark brows narrowed as she remembered Miranda's lovable St. Bernard. A sick feeling hit her stomach. In this town, a dog in traffic was a dead dog.

"Not here on the street, thank God. We were in Central Park, and this kid Miranda hired to walk Patricia lost control of her. Then the kid panicked and ran off. Now the dog is gone and the kid is gone and I'm next on the chopping block!"

"Haven't you tried park security? The police?" Andy asked.

"Are you kidding?" The limo driver threw her an impatient look. "The tabloids would pick it up in no time. Miranda Priestley, abusive pet owner, letting her dog crap all over the Upper West Side. My head is on the block here!"

"To hell with that part of it," Andy said roughly, falling into Roy's way of speaking almost without noticing it. "Central Park is huge and poor Patricia is probably scared to death!"

"Will you help me look for her, Andrea?" For a moment Roy's tough, seen-it-all expression actually turned rather shy.

"Oh, no," Andrea gulped. "No, no, no! Bad idea!"

But she knew she couldn't leave Patricia out in the cold. And she was already climbing into the long, luxurious limousine.

"Don't worry, kid," Roy was saying. "We'll find her."

"Sure, Roy. We'll find her." Andy closed her eyes, trying not to remember anything while breathing in Miranda's perfume.


	10. Going Home

_Chapter Ten: Going Home_

Bruised, battered, and exhausted, Andy Sachs finally staggered back to the long limousine with Patricia safely on her leash once more. The search had taken hours, with Andy entering Central Park near the Museum of Natural History on 81st street and combing nearly every inch of the famous park on foot. She finally found Miranda's massive St. Bernard cowering in the bushes near the Harlem Meer.

"It's all right, baby, it's all right," the dark-eyed beauty crooned in the back seat, squeezing the worn out dog with all her might and kissing Patricia's dirty and matted fur. "We're going home now, precious baby. We're going home!"

Andy was only trying to calm the poor animal down. For Patricia, "home" was actually the very expensive kennel with extensive outdoor grounds where Miranda kept her pet during the work week. But Roy, the limo driver, overheard her words and misunderstood the situation. Or perhaps he understood far more than he let on. The next thing Andy knew they were pulling up in front of Miranda's town house.

"Oh God, she looks furious!" Andy couldn't understand how Miranda could have gotten home from work so early, without Roy to drive her. But there she was, standing on the marble steps outside her building, as frosty and elegant as ever, with the front door left ever so slightly open behind her.

"Come here, girl." Maybe Miranda was only talking to the dog. But when the limo door opened and Patricia went lunging up the front steps, Andy was dragged along with her. After all, she couldn't let go of the poor dog's leash. And so the two of them went crashing up the stairs together, like stray planetoids being sucked back into Miranda's orbit.

"You need a bath," Miranda said softly. But she wasn't talking to Patricia. Her eyes were resting on the grubby face of the slender young woman standing before her.

"I don't work for you anymore, Miranda," Andy replied, in a small but steady voice. "You can't tell me what to do."

"I should have taken better care of you," the silver-haired icon whispered, bending over and kissing the big dog at her feet. "I should never have treated you like an accessory. Jump back in the car now, there's a good girl. Roy will take you someplace absolutely lovely, where you can relax."

By this time Andy was hopelessly confused, not knowing whether Miranda was directing her or the St. Bernard. But at least Patricia knew what she wanted. She bounded down the steps and back into the waiting car. Andy was left staring into Miranda's cool gray eyes as the long black limousine slowly pulled away. Knowing what it all came down to.

"It's funny, I can't help still caring about Patricia, even though she's not my responsibility any more," the girl said casually, leaning against the cool iron railing. She felt like sitting down.

"I think she missed you," Miranda replied, rather awkwardly.

"Uh-huh."

The older woman hesitated, seeming to wage a struggle with herself. "I can't order you to come inside, Andrea. But I'd like it very much. I want to talk to you."

"Why not?" Andy shrugged. "I smell like dog anyway."

The two women walked up the stairs together.

THE END

_A/N: I can't say how grateful I am to all the lovely readers here at the DWP board. Your kind reviews have made me very happy! I'm ending this story here just because I'm changing jobs and am likely to be out of circulation for a while. But please review and tell me if you'd like to see more stories like this about Andy and Miranda! And don't forget, if you're in the market for stories like this, GLORY AND THE CLEVER CAT by Carol Storm is on sale now over at Noble Romance. That's www dot noble romance dot com!_


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